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I Don’t Wanna Grow Up, I Don’t Wanna Grow Up

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In college, on a drunken party night, probably with a red plastic cup in hand, I discovered a nifty way to always remember my age. The second digit of my age would always be one behind the year we’re in. All I’ve got to do is remember the first digit! Nifty but useless, right? That’s what I thought until my birthday at the beginning of this year when I told my husband  I couldn’t believe I was turning 27 already (remember, this is January 2007 at the time). We talked at length about how time flies and how he couldn’t believe he, himself would be 27 as well later in the year. The next day, he said, “You know we’re not going to be 27? We’re only 25.” I almost put up a fight until I remembered my nifty trick and realized he was right.

In 2008, I’ll be 27- 3 years shy of 30. I believe this is considered a grown up age. Problem is, I don’t feel so grown! At work, I feel like the intern who’s only here for the summer waiting to get back to the fun of the school year. I can’t believe all those years of schooling prepared me to do the tasks of my job. Can I really be getting paid this much to do what I do? Don’t they know I’m only 16 inside? I own a condo and a car; I have a husband and a baby. I’m preparing to write a will with my husband and I fund a 401k. These are all things grown ups do, right? Then how come I still feel like a kid?

I don’t think it’s a bad thing to feel like a kid, I actually think it’s a great thing. But will I feel like this when I’m 60? Is the only difference going to be gray hair and wrinkles? Growing up, adults always seemed much more serious than I ever feel. They never seemed to laugh or giggle as much as I do. They never talked about the silly topics my husband and I discuss. Was there something wrong with them? When did they loose that laid back feeling?

I realized I still felt like a kid when J and I went to get a safety deposit box at our local bank. We sat down, filled out all the paperwork and organized our important documents to stuff inside the box. Finally, they led us into the safety deposit box area which is like a giant bank vault. I wanted to giggle when I was inside because I felt like I shouldn’t be in there. I wanted to stick out my index finger and my thumb and say, “Stick ’em up!” I was waiting for the real thieves, ala Ocean’s 11, to drop in from the ceiling in black cat suits and masks. I felt like an imposter without huge wads of cash to stuff into our box. Am I nuts or what?

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